How Fickle My Heart
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: Filling in the gaps of what could have happened after Blaine's audition for Grease.


"I can't, I'm sorry I just can't. Grease is a romance, how can I play any of the scenes when I've ruined mine?" The confession feels heavy on his tongue, his bones feel weak, his skin exposed so they can see every tiny self-deprecating cell. Applause. They were _applauding_ him—did they really think it was all an act? The melodramatic prep boy going through his first break up.

"Thanks for letting me audition," he turns to leave, wants to run, but a desperate voice halts him.

"Wait! Are there any roles you _are_ willing to play?" He stares at Artie, almost as if he can't believe what's happening. And then it clicks in his head—no one is going to take him seriously, no one is willing to be the one to step up and say something, and the two boys in the audience are so desperate, so dead-set on casting him that they completely overlooked his hesitation. He's so tired and just wants to leave, wants to be able to walk away without arguing why he just can't get into the headspace for a musical based on love—but he knows he can't do that, not to these two.

"I—I don't know. Maybe Teen Angel? It's only one scene," he stumbles over himself, the many sleepless nights catching up to him. "But probably not," he adds for clarification. What he really wants to say is, _Don't cast me. Please don't cast me. I don't want to have to let you down too. _

Without waiting for a reaction from either of them, Blaine turns and quickly starts walking away, but it isn't long before he breaks out into a run. His throat is tight, his eyes blurred—he looks and feels just so unlike himself and he wonders how every one of his so called friends in New Directions has failed to acknowledge this. He's starting to realise just how alone he really is without Kurt; it was one thing when Kurt became too caught up with work, this was something entirely new, entirely different—he was flat out avoiding Blaine altogether now.

No one at school understood; Cooper's decision to turn over a new leaf and actually be involved in his life had lasted a grand total of one week before the phone calls and texts became few and far between; there was absolutely no way he'd be able to speak to his father about it and visiting his mother's grave just made him feel so... _empty_ these days.

Somehow, he finds himself at his locker. The halls are vacant, not a single soul in sight—he's not quite sure when the bell rang, but he feels it's surely too late to head to class now. He deposits the few remainders from his satchel: two spiral notebooks and three black, vinyl folders. The slam of his locker echoes just a little louder now, reverberating mockingly as though he needed a reminder of his loneliness, and he makes his way to the cafeteria to wait for Sam and Brittany at their usual table.

A full year at this school and he still feels like he doesn't belong. At least at Dalton he felt apart of a family—McKinley just didn't offer him the same sort of kinship, the same type of brotherhood that the Warblers did. Then again, even there he was always aiming to please; he was what they needed him to be, and they were merely a temporary distraction from his ever-present problems.

Even in the lunchtime pandemonium, he felt isolated; nobody so much as glances at him as he floats through the spaces between the tables. Somehow, someone saw fit to grant him the fortune of leaving a table empty. He slides in and crosses his arms on the table, burying his face into them, and falls into a quick, uneasy slumber that he can't bring himself to wake from until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Blaine?" Brittany towers over him, gentle eyes agape in perpetual curious wonderment.

"Oh," he presses his knuckles into his eyes, which proves to be quite useless in rubbing away his exhaustion. "Hey, Brittany," he continues in a sleepy drawl.

She takes a seat beside him, folds her arms across the table and lowers her head onto them, mimicking Blaine. He raises an eyebrow and she replies in his same sleepy drawl, "Is it nap time?"

Blaine gives her a weary smile and sits upright—she follows in suit. Blaine isn't sure he wants to know why she's mimicking his every move, and just as he he's about to ask Sam waltzes over and claps him on the back. "Hey there, prez, you missed your last class. What kind of example is that to set for the school?"

"My audition ran late," Blaine responds, a little too defensively, and rubs his eyes again.

"How did it go?" Sam inquires tentatively, sinking down beside Brittany.

Blaine shrugs and lowers his head down onto his arms again. "Don't think I'll be getting lead this year, I can tell you that much."

Sam doesn't press on with his inquiry about this musical. "You not eating or were you waiting for us?"

"Not hungry," Blaine turns his head, shielding his eyes from the both of them.

"You look kind of pale," Sam adds with quiet concern and Blaine doesn't need to see his face to know there's a frown upon it.

"Probably some virus going around," comes Blaine's muffled reply, his throat suddenly tight. _I told you just this morning I haven't been eating or sleeping, have you forgotten already?_

"Gross," Brittany comments, on autopilot, staring off into the distance.

"I think I might just go to my car and try to sleep," Blaine sits up. "Too loud in here."

"Okay," Sam replies, a hint of defeat in his voice. "Hey, I was thinking after school we could maybe hang out?"

"What for?" Blaine blinks and starts to stand.

"To just hang out?" Sam's hearty laugh accompanies his words. "No offence, but it doesn't seem like you've been doing too great since you and Kurt split."

_I haven't been. I deserve it._

"Oh, um, s-sure. Yeah, yeah I'd like that," he allows a smile to grace his face, and it actually comes easily with genuine relief.

"Cool, see you later then!"

"Yeah, see you," he turns his attention to Brittany afterwards. "Bye, Britt."

"Can I come with you?" She looks up at him with uncharacteristically sad eyes.

"With me and Sam later?"

"Yes, but to your car too. I'm sleepy," she stands up without waiting for his reply.

"Um, I guess so," he gives Sam a quizzical look; Sam merely shrugs in reply and leaves them to join the lunch line. "Okay, let's go."

They walk, in silence, to his car, the air surrounding them growing thick and uncomfortable. Blaine clicks the remote to unlock it and steps into the driver's side, reclining his chair; Brittany mimics him on the passenger side. To test out his previous theory he brings a hand up to his mouth and fakes a yawn—Brittany copies the action. He can't suppress it anymore. "Brittany, why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what, Blaine Warbler?"

"Copying everything I do."

"Cause," she pauses, her face scrunched up in concentration. "We're the same."

"I don't follow," he shifts around, trying to get comfortable, and settles for lying on his side to face Brittany.

"I don't have Santana and you don't have Kurt—we're the same," she faces Blaine, presses her hands together and slides them under her head. "So I thought if we did everything the same we wouldn't feel so lonely anymore."

It makes sense to him, in a "Brittany logic" sort of way, but her confession does little to ease the weight that's been fixed to his chest since early October. He isn't sure what happened between Brittany and Santana, but he's willing to bet it isn't anything at like what he's done to Kurt. Her sudden attachment makes him feel sick and claustrophobic, as though he's expected to be a pillar of strength for the both of them. He doesn't have it in him, not anymore, with his chest ripped wide open and his heart whispering _KurtKurtKurt_ with every dull beat.

"Britt, I," but his voice betrays him, throat constricts and all that replaces his words is strangled desperation—he can't even fake his way through a simple sentence.

"Everyone says we'll get over it, that it doesn't matter. But, you know it's different—we're not like them, we're different," she trails off and repeats the word, barely audibly. "Different."

"Yeah," Blaine doesn't even bother to wipe away the tear trekking down his cheek, "We're different."


End file.
